


We Still Talk

by roboticonography



Series: Sex Disaster [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Honeymoon Disaster, Just Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: Newlyweds Steve and Peggy take a holiday to get away from it all - but the great outdoors might hold more challenges than they bargained for!





	We Still Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterfool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfool/gifts).



> _I put a ring on your finger_  
>  _You put your name on the phone_  
>  _Put a candle on the table_  
>  _Tonight we’ll stay home_  
>  _She says it’s funny after all that we’ve been through_  
>  _That we still talk the way that lovers do_  
>     
> — “We Still Talk,” Johnny Favorite Swing Orchestra
> 
> * * *
> 
> Written for the 2017 Steggy Secret Santa.
> 
> For those of you keeping track, this story takes place in the same universe as last year’s Secret Santa story, [It Didn’t Happen One Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9100252). It isn’t necessary to read that one to enjoy this one; all you really need to know is that Steve and Peggy both work at the SSR office. Bucky also made it home okay, though he doesn’t really appear in this story.

It was all so perfect: a balmy spring evening, a gorgeous watercolour sunset—and his beautiful bride of almost nine hours, curled into his side, dozing sweetly.

There was something strangely pleasing about the way she’d drifted off: her eyes fluttering closed, her head dipping lower and lower before finally coming to rest against his shoulder. 

Steve had never known Peggy to fall asleep accidentally, even in the field. That must be how deeply she trusted him; she felt so safe and comfortable next to him that she could relax into sleep without giving it any thought at all.

He wasn’t surprised that she was tired. The last few days had been hectic, and a bit overwhelming. But now that it was all over, and they were here, it was worth all the fuss. 

When Steve looked back on the wedding, the best way he could describe it was to compare it to one of those children’s games where the player is blindfolded and spun in circles. All he could recall of the morning was an overwhelming sense of disorientation. Nothing that was happening around him seemed to be in his power to control; several times, he caught sight of his own reflection, and didn’t recognize the person he was looking at.

He’d teetered to a stop, finally, to find himself in full dress uniform, standing at the altar of a church where he’d never attended mass.

And there, across from him, wearing a look of bewilderment identical to his own, was Peggy, all in white, with flowers in her hair.

It was then that he knew, without a doubt, that it was going to be okay. That they would face this challenge together, as they’d done so many others, and come out on top.

And now, with the vows said and the speeches made, they were making their escape.

Consulting the folded map on his knee, he slowed to turn onto a gravel road. He tried to drive carefully, avoiding the ruts, but to no avail; a stray stone pinged loudly off the wheel well, and Peggy stirred and sat up, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

Her face looked flushed and lovely, the way it always did when she’d been sleeping. Steve suddenly wanted very badly to kiss her—so much so that he gave serious thought to pulling the car over before reason prevailed.

“Good morning,” he said, drolly.

She smiled at him, took off her sunglasses, and peered out at the road. “Where are we?”

“Almost there. We just passed the sign they said to look for, so it can’t be more than a few miles out.”

“Oh! Have I been asleep the whole way? How frightfully dull for you.”

“I don’t mind at all. It was a nice drive.” Not wanting it to sound like he’d been grateful for the respite, he added, “You must’ve needed it. You were really out.”

“Mm.” Peggy patted her hair back into place. “Angie wouldn’t let me have a moment’s peace last night. I think she was more excited than either of us.”

Steve could certainly sympathize: Bucky and the fellows had insisted on making one last concerted effort to get Steve loaded. It hadn’t worked, but that hadn’t prevented them from having a good time in his honour, after which he’d felt obligated to ensure they all got home safely. On the whole, herding cats would have made a nice change.

“I’ll let you get plenty of rest tonight,” he assured her, grinning.

“Don’t you dare.”

And, in case he’d somehow managed to miss her meaning, she reached down and squeezed his thigh.

“Peggy,” he protested, unconvincingly. “I’m driving.”

“And you’re doing a marvellous job, darling.” She patted his leg reassuringly.

“You’re my wife, you have to say that.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works.”

“I know. I just wanted to say ‘you’re my wife,’” he confessed.

He thought she might make fun of him for that one, but when he glanced her way, she was beaming. “When we stopped to get petrol, I was just loitering about in the shop, hoping someone would strike up a conversation so that I might say, ‘oh, must dash, my husband’s waiting in the car.’”

“Did anyone?”

“Tragically, no.”

“That is tragic. I think we passed a service station about ten miles back, want me to turn around?”

“Don’t encourage me,” she said sternly, before cuddling up to him again. 

*

Steve and Peggy had considered a few options before deciding on the Poconos. 

They’d wanted something stateside, feeling that they’d both racked up more than enough air miles over the Atlantic. Howard had offered them the use of any one of his houses or apartments, but neither of them felt right taking advantage of his hospitality—and then, too, there was the lingering threat of him dropping in.

Niagara Falls was supposed to be romantic, if a little crowded; California had attractive weather and plenty of parks and beaches; a nice hotel in Manhattan would have been luxurious, and the prospect of being tourists in their own city was tempting. 

They’d gone together to ask Chief Dooley for the time off, reasoning that a united front was the best tactic. Initially, the conversation had taken an awkward turn when it had become apparent that Dooley thought Peggy would be turning in her badge.

Peggy had wanted to know precisely what part of her work Dooley thought might suffer, once she had a husband? On her and Steve’s combined salary, she pointed out, they could easily afford a housekeeper—and, if it came to that, a nanny as well.

In the end, the only edict he could reasonably make was that they couldn’t work cases together (something they never did anyhow, given that their skill sets and temperaments so closely coincided, while their shift schedules rarely did). 

They’d agreed and, after some perfunctory griping, he’d granted them two weeks off: enough time for the wedding and the honeymoon, and to get Peggy moved out of the Griffith and settled in Steve’s apartment.

After the meeting with Dooley, Steve had done his best to get the word circulating in the bullpen that Peggy would be coming back to work after the wedding, just to avoid any further unpleasantness.

However, Jack Thompson, who could always be counted on to be a special kind of unpleasant, had risen to the occasion: he’d actually orchestrated a goodbye party for Peggy, including getting everyone to chip in for a cake. He was lucky that Peggy hadn’t smashed his face into it.

Once the switchboard girls learned it was all a mean-spirited prank, a gang of them had cornered Thompson outside the men’s room and demanded their money back. Then they’d taken Peggy out for a sort of impromptu hen party—no men allowed. Angie had delivered her to Steve’s apartment later that evening, completely shipwrecked, and she’d wound up spending the night. He had no idea how Peggy had squared it with Miss Fry in the end.

After all of that, Peggy and Steve had narrowed their focus to vacation spots with no telephone, no mail delivery—no way for either of them to be recalled to the office on short notice.

However, neither of them were keen on roughing it in the wild. Steve had spent too much time sleeping out to have any interest in doing it recreationally, and Peggy found it ominous that the camping brochure had come with a pamphlet on how to ward off bears.

A honeymoon resort had seemed like the best of both worlds. The time of year meant that they’d be spared the crowd-crush of summer; the cabins were isolated from each other and from any main thoroughfare, but a short drive away could be found a well-maintained beach, and a cluster of shops and restaurants. And (as far as Steve could make out) few, if any, bears.

Peggy had made the reservation under Carter, since Steve’s name was too easily recognized these days. She’d even had the forethought to ask if they could pay in advance and have the keys to the cabin mailed to them, so that they wouldn’t have to appear in person at the lodge to check in. The resort owners may have thought she was a bit eccentric, but they’d complied.

She’d also asked Howard whether they could tell people they were going to use his house in California, just to throw everyone off the scent. Howard had entered into the spirit of the thing with characteristic zeal, even going so far as to to file a flight plan for his private jet, and to have Mr. Jarvis ‘leak’ the news of Captain America’s top secret honeymoon plans to two different tabloid reporters.

It would be the first holiday either of them had taken in years, and their first ever together. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, they’d talked about it often: they’d swim and sunbathe every day, dance together every night, sleep as late as they wanted, and eat all their meals out. No roommates, no curfews, no shift changes. Just uninterrupted peace and privacy.

*

The curtain of twilight had fallen by the time they arrived at the cabin. It was everything the brochure had promised: rustic, but charming, built from short logs in post-on-sill style. There was even a roomy little porch, complete with swing. 

Inside, a kitchenette, a small but modern-looking bathroom, and an open-plan living and sleeping area, with the bed modestly concealed behind a curtained partition.

Steve unloaded the car, which didn’t take long. They’d packed only the essentials: clothes, toiletries, and the heavy wicker picnic basket that had been the Jarvises’ parting gift.

Next, he did a quick perimeter survey (he had to stop thinking of things in those terms, he reminded himself; it was just plain old  _ taking a walk _ these days) and found the woodshed, which was well-stocked. He carried in an armload of wood for the stove and fireplace, whistling all the while.

He was inspecting the stove when Peggy sidled up to him, delving into his trouser pocket with one hand.

“Hey,” he said, dropping an arm around her shoulders. “What’s that about?”

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, grinning. “It’s your lighter I’m after, not your virtue.”

“Pretty sure you already got both,” he retorted. “Check your pocketbook.”

She squeezed his waist before making a strategic retreat.

Peggy had given him the silver cigarette lighter for Christmas one year, back when they were both still on the front lines. It was engraved with his name and unit, and bore the emblem of the U.S. Army on one side, and the SSR wings on the reverse. It was such an expensive and obviously personal gift that he’d wondered, at the time, whether she wasn’t a little bit sweet on him. He’d been too embarrassed to admit, until much later on, that he didn’t smoke.

The only reason he carried a lighter at all these days was to light Peggy’s cigarettes. Nine times out of ten, it wound up in her handbag by the end of an evening out.

Sure enough, she reappeared moments later with a lit candle and did a quick circuit of the room, igniting the oil lanterns.

“Let me have it back when you’re through,” he said. “I want to get this fire started before it gets too dark.”

“You can’t manage it without a lighter?” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “And here I thought I’d married a real outdoorsman.”

“Was that before or after you married me?”

She pitched the lighter at him.

Steve built up a decent fire in the fireplace, while Peggy made up the bed and unpacked the picnic.

It turned out to be a movable feast: pâté and crackers, cold roast chicken, salad, bread, cheese, fruit, and rhubarb pie. There was enough to feed them both for at least an entire day. The Jarvises had also included tins of coffee and tea, a pint of milk, and—the pièce de resistance—a bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses, carefully packed in their own little newspaper nests.

Steve, for whom the word ‘picnic’ had conjured up sandwiches and soda bottles, was both surprised and touched by their friends’ generosity.

Peggy sat down at the little dining table, and handed the bottle to Steve with a dire warning: “If you give me a black eye, it isn’t too late for me to get an annulment.”

“Anyone who overheard that might get the wrong idea,” he said mildly.

“There’s no one around to overhear us, darling.” She said it with a straight face, but the lilt in her voice told a different story. “No one for miles. You can make as much noise as you like. In fact, I insist.”

“You’re a menace.” He bent down and kissed her all the same.

Peggy’s stomach growled loudly.

“And they say there’s no romance left in the world.” She wrinkled her nose at him, adorably. “You’d better feed me before I waste away.”

Steve had only ever seen other people open champagne, but he managed to work it out, his palm pressed against the cork to prevent it going astray. He filled the glasses, and then they toasted each other’s health, and helped themselves to dinner.

It was one of the nicest dinner dates they’d ever had. Unlike the weeks before the wedding, there was no rush to be anywhere other than where they were. Neither of them felt as though they should be taking hasty advantage of the time alone; there was no roommate, no curfew, and no landlady who fancied herself a chaperone. 

There was just a delicious meal by candlelight, plenty of champagne, ready smiles and casual touches, and happiness bubbling up in Steve’s chest like an effervescent spring.

Once his wife declared herself well-fed, Steve fiddled with the radio until he found a mellow instrumental, and then they slipped their shoes off and took a couple of turns around the floor.

It wasn’t dancing, so much as just holding each other close in time with music, but that seemed to suit both of them just fine. They’d done this enough times that they had it down to a finely-tuned routine; a side effect, Steve supposed, of pairing up two strategists.

Sure enough, after a few songs, hands started to wander. That progressed in fairly short order to kissing, and then to necking. But just as Steve was about to make his customary observation that it was getting late (prompting Peggy to suggest that it might be time to put out the lights), Peggy broke with tradition: she disentangled herself, announced that she was going to get ready for bed, and disappeared into the bathroom.

The disruption of the usual order of operations left Steve at a bit of a loss, all things considered.

He decided that the best thing to do would be to bank up the fire for the night, as it was mostly embers. The room had definitely cooled down in the last few minutes, though it was difficult to say whether it was the night air, or just the sudden absence of Peggy in his arms.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, he found his mind wandering back to the last evening they’d had any time alone, a few days before the wedding. He’d snuck into her room at the Griffith, at her invitation. After all, she’d pointed out, the worst that might happen would be that she’d be kicked out slightly ahead of schedule. Her trunks were already packed.

All the same, Steve had preferred not to scandalize Miss Fry, especially when Peggy was so close to making it out without a blemish on her record. It had taken some doing to find a way to pass the time that wouldn’t rumple the bed, or leave any other signs of mischief that couldn’t be quickly tidied away at first knock.

After a bit of negotiation, they’d ended up with Steve kneeling on the rug, and Peggy sitting on top of one of the aforementioned trunks, her knees thrown over his shoulders. She’d insisted, with a sultry smile, that it was the best way to prevent him from making any noise. Even though they both knew that he wasn’t the loud one.

Steve was so lost in the memory that Peggy had to call his name, not once but twice, before he had the presence of mind to turn around.

“What do you think?” she asked—striking a pose that, if Steve had been a camera, would have put Betty Grable out of the pinup business for good.

Steve, as it happened, was fortunate enough to be familiar with the sight of Peggy in her underthings. But when it came to what she preferred for daily wear, the words that came to mind were _practical_ and _utilitarian_ and _architectural_. They were foundation garments, designed to ensure everything stayed in place in the course of a given day.

Steve still found the sight of them sexy, because Peggy was sexy in them, and because seeing her in them usually meant he was about to see her  _ out _ of them. But he’d never really understood the appeal of lingerie for its own sake, until this precise moment.

The robe she had on was as sheer as a nylon stocking, and ended in a froth of lace right around where her stockings began. Underneath it, more lace: a low-cut and highly impractical black brassiere that really didn’t seem up to the challenge of containing Peggy’s ample bosom, and a black garter belt.

And, from the looks of it, nothing else.

Firelight brought out the red in her dark hair, and gave her skin a golden cast; against the black silk, she seemed to glow, alabaster lit from within.

“You look…” Words like _gorgeous_ , _stunning_ , _incredible_ all seemed woefully inadequate. “It’s really…”  _ Tempting? Arousing? Breathtaking? _ “Yeah,” he finished, having said absolutely nothing of note.

Peggy smiled. “Really what?” she prompted.

All Steve managed to get out was, “Good.”

She shrugged off the robe—a motion that had an amazing effect on her décolletage—and ran her hands slowly over her body, down and down. “Good?”

He nodded. “ _Really_ good.”

He watched, spellbound, as she slipped a finger beneath the top of her stocking, caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh, just the way Steve knew she liked. Her eyes, catching light from the embers, seemed to smoulder.

“I’m glad you approve,” she said, her voice low and a little rough. “I bought them for you.”

Before she’d finished speaking, he’d already forgotten about the fire, moving towards her as if magnetized.

When he kissed her, he couldn’t help noticing how cold her nose was. She pressed into him, shivering in his arms.

“Let’s get you under the covers,” he told her.

Her laugh was soft, a puff of air on his cheek. “ _Excellent_ idea,” she purred, tugging him towards the bed.

*

Despite all of Peggy’s teasing about Steve making noise during their more intimate moments, he never really did. The closer he got to the edge, the more closed and quiet and tightly-wound he seemed to become, regaining his voice only once it was over.

For her part, Peggy had never considered herself especially inhibited, but it quickly became clear that she’d been holding back before tonight.

Certainly, the occasion added something to the experience: consummation of the marriage bond, and all of that. However, Peggy felt it probably had more to do with the fact that—for the first time, by her reckoning—they were truly, utterly alone. There was no possibility of being interrupted by a neighbour, or a colleague, or a landlady, or the United States Army, or a grown man with a sobriquet more befitting of a cartoon squirrel. 

The promise of not being overheard may have made Peggy somewhat more expressive than usual.

Some time later, she lay bundled beneath the covers, watching with unabashed appreciation as Steve knelt by the fireplace, finishing the job of work she’d caused him to neglect.

He’d thought her trembling earlier was from the cold; she hadn’t bothered to correct his misapprehension, her mind being on more important matters. Now, he insisted on seeing to her comfort, and she found, to her surprise, that she quite enjoyed letting him.

He was almost nude, but for his shorts—a concession that she suspected was more motivated by safety than modesty. Even Captain America wasn’t about to walk off a hot spark in a sensitive place.

His back was, Peggy felt, rather splendid; especially just now, with the movement of his shoulders bringing all of the muscles into play. One couldn’t help feeling slightly possessive—a feeling that she had elected to enjoy for the moment, rather than examine too closely.

“Darling,” she said, for the sheer pleasure of saying it.

He turned, smiling at her over his shoulder. “You keep distracting me. You want to freeze in the middle of the night?”

“There’s an easy solution for that,” she pointed out. “Come and keep me warm.”

Finishing with the fire, he slipped back under the covers, pulling the quilt up over her shoulders and tucking her snugly against his chest. She shifted against him, settling into his arms, revelling in the feel of so much bare skin against her own. She wished they could go to sleep like this every night for the rest of their lives.

With his typical gift for understatement, Steve remarked, “Good day.”

“Hmm, yes. Not a bad evening, either.”

She toyed with his fingers, her thumb brushing over the smooth wedding band. They wouldn’t be able to wear their rings in the field, naturally; Peggy had heard too many horror stories about men who’d lost a finger that way. 

But here, now, there was no reason to leave off wearing them. Out in the woods, they were no longer agents of the SSR or soldiers at war; they were just Steve and Peggy Rogers, newlyweds-at-large.

At times, Steve’s train of thought seemed to uncannily mirror her own, so she wasn’t entirely surprised when he kissed the back of her neck and murmured, “Mrs. Rogers.”

She couldn’t help grinning. It was utterly ridiculous to be so madly in love with one’s own husband. But it couldn’t be helped.

“I’m terribly happy. Are you happy?” she asked, foolishly, just to hear the answer.

“Mm-hmm.” 

It was a less than satisfying response, but he followed it up with a gesture that made words entirely superfluous.

There was no more talking after that.

*

Steve had been getting up at the crack of dawn every morning since his first day in basic. And on every one of those mornings, it seemed, Peggy’s day had long since started by the time he was awake.

So it wasn’t a complete surprise when he woke to find her side of the bed already empty.

He peeked around the curtain and saw her reading yesterday’s paper at the little dining table: messy hair, no makeup, and wearing his shirt from the night before, the hem hitting her about mid-thigh. She had her feet propped up on the corner of the table, bare legs crossed at the ankle, the way she sometimes did at work when she was trying to snatch a moment’s peace in the bustle of the bullpen. She appeared to be doing the crossword, a pencil in her hand, a cup of tea within easy reach.

Steve couldn’t help thinking that she’d never looked more beautiful. He thought maybe he was going to wake up every morning from now on feeling like that.

She glanced up, flashing him a bright smile. “How very pretty you look in the morning,” she teased—echoing his own thoughts, as she often did.

“Thanks. Same to you.” He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to get it all going in the same direction. “How’d you sleep?”

“Divinely. It was lovely, lying in your arms the whole night.”

“It was nice,” he agreed.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” Without waiting for his reply, she got up and went to reheat the kettle.

“Sure,” he said, amused.

They had leftover pie for breakfast, by mutual agreement, rather than bothering to get dressed and make the drive to the cafe. “We’d only be coming back here again to get undressed afterwards,” Peggy pointed out.

Steve wiggled his eyebrows.

“To go to the beach,” she added, poking him with her foot. “I want to get a bit of colour while we’re here. Look how pale my legs are.”

Steve dutifully pulled her legs into his lap and gave them a thorough inspection, before conceding that they were just a touch whiter than her arms. He offered to take a look at the rest of her too, but Peggy wasn’t about to let anything interrupt her quality time with Mr. Jarvis’s rhubarb pie.

After they’d eaten, Steve tried to clean up—not wanting her to think he expected her to keep house on what was supposed to be a holiday for them both. But then Peggy bit her lip around a wicked grin, and the next thing he knew, she was perched on the kitchen counter with her ankles locked at the small of his back, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, the sun streaming in through the open windows. Watching her come apart was even more amazing in full daylight, and it wasn’t long before he followed, shuddering through his own release.

The way they were going, they’d never make it out to the car, let alone the beach.

“We’re going to be quite spoilt when we go back,” said Peggy, the words muffled by his shoulder. “Used to having our wicked way with each other whenever we please. I don’t know how we’ll manage.”

“It’s just until we get our own house,” he pointed out, kissing the top of her head. “Then we’ll do this in every room.”

“I love you,” she said fervently.

*

The beach was mostly empty, save for a few other couples who were clearly just as eager for privacy as they. It wasn’t difficult to find a spot to put their blanket down.

Steve had on a loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt and a pair of cropped linen trousers over his trunks, hoping to avoid attracting attention. Not that he was the first or only muscular guy to ever grace a beach with his presence, but he’d learned through experience that his chances of being spotted rose exponentially as soon as he had to take his shirt off.

When Peggy discarded her floppy beach hat and her striped caftan, Steve realized that he really didn’t need to worry. Because, of the two of them, no one was going to be looking at him.

Peggy had bought a new swimsuit for the trip—presumably with the goal of sending Steve into cardiac arrest. And it was working.

It was a daring little French two-piece, fire engine red. With her white sunglasses and her red lipstick, her curls pinned up and tied back with a little scarf, she was a total knockout.

“You weren’t kidding about getting some sun,” he observed. He was pretty sure the hat would cover more of her than the bikini did. Not that he was complaining.

She caught his eye and leaned back provocatively. “Do you like it?”

_ Like _ was a massive understatement. Steve could only nod.

Peggy smoothed suntan lotion down her neck and over her chest in a way that seemed unnecessarily thorough. Steve was facing the sun, but he could feel the back of his neck heating up all the same. He resisted the urge to look around, though he felt certain that every other man on the beach had to be watching her too.

“Will you put some of this on my back?” She handed him the bottle without waiting for his answer, rolling onto her stomach.

Steve dribbled some of the lotion into his hand before running his palms over her sun-warmed back. The stuff was a little oily; he found himself massaging it into her skin, kneading her shoulders with both thumbs.

Peggy made a noise that was not appropriate for a public setting.

“Calm down,” he told her, amused.

“Oh, I’m on holiday. Let me have my fun.”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You have any more fun, and I’ll wind up getting arrested. These shorts don’t leave much to the imagination as it is.”

She raised herself up on her elbow and craned her neck to kiss him, deeply. Which didn’t do anything to help his tiny shorts dilemma.

“What’s gotten into you today?”

She grinned wickedly. “Besides you?”

Without a word, he draped the hat over her face, shielding himself from further temptation.

“You’re no fun at all,” she groused, lying back down.

Steve finished applying the lotion to her back, making an effort to keep things decent. It wasn’t easy; she had the softest skin he’d ever touched, and there was so much of it just waiting to be kissed and caressed. And the suntan oil she’d picked just seemed to compliment how good she smelled naturally. All he could think about was unhooking those little closures and...

He was  _ definitely _ going to need to take a minute before he took off his trousers now.

“All done.” Just for the hell of it, he patted her backside. 

She lifted her head to give him a look. “What happened to being on our best behaviour in public?”

“You can slap me if I was out of line.” He stretched out beside her on his stomach. It felt a little foolish, but it was impossible to lie on his back without doing his best impersonation of a sundial. Maybe some deep breathing exercises would help. Either that, or he could borrow Peggy’s hat.

“Aren’t you going to swim? It’s all you talked about on the way here.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” He knew giving her the real reason why he wasn’t in a hurry to take his clothes off would only encourage her.

She took up the lotion bottle. “Let me put some on you,” she offered.

“That’s okay,” he assured her. “I never burn.”

Peggy looked slightly put out, but stashed the bottle in her bag without comment. Then she leaned across and smacked him on the ass.

“Hey! Excuse you.”

“Sauce for the gander,” she said smartly.

“I didn’t do it that hard,” he pointed out. “Bet your hand hurts.”

“It does, rather.”

Steve took up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each of her knuckles in turn. “How’s that?”

“Oh, go jump in the lake,” she said, her tone more playful now.

He sat up, pulling his shirt off over his head. “Your wish is my command.”

*

On their return, Steve went inside to shower off the beach. Left to her own devices, Peggy decided to test out the porch swing. She’d even managed to turn up a weathered Mickey Spillane novel that had been left behind by some previous occupant of the cabin in one of the cupboards.

The book was awful, but lounging in the swing was pleasant enough, especially with the shade. She wondered whether she’d overdone it on the beach: her skin felt a bit tight, especially in places that weren’t accustomed to sun exposure. 

At some point, she must have nodded off; she woke to find Steve sitting at the opposite end of the swing, her feet resting on his knee. He was paging through the novel she’d been reading, his distaste apparent.

She sat up and stretched, feeling that pleasing laxity that comes with good, refreshing sleep.

Steve smiled at her. Being on holiday suited him: he’d acquired a bit of colour in his cheeks and a glint of gold in his hair. He’d always had the air of a man with the weight of the world on his broad shoulders, but just now, he looked relaxed and happy.

Peggy felt a powerful swell of affection. And amorousness. 

She shifted so that she was seated on his lap, wrapping her arms around him. “Hello, handsome.”

“We missed lunch,” he informed her, pragmatic as ever. “Want me to make you a snack?”

“Yes, I’m ravenous,” she murmured, ducking her head to kiss along his jaw. “I’ll nibble on you for a while, shall I?” 

“Peggy,” he said gently. “We’ll break the swing.”

She made a frustrated noise.

“There’s a nice, comfortable bed right around the corner,” he pointed out.

She stood and took his hand. However, instead of leading him inside, she stepped off the porch, walking him over to a patch of sun-dappled grass.

He looked at her dubiously.

“Don’t worry,” she said, undoing the front of her caftan. “I’ll protect you if any bears come along.”

“I’m starting to think I married an exhibitionist.” But he was smiling even as he said it, and she didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked down to her cleavage.

“There’s no one around to see us,” she reminded him. She draped the caftan over the grass before arranging herself on top of it, striking a seductive pose and giving Steve a come-hither look.

Steve came hither.

For all her professed boldness, Peggy had never actually made love outdoors. There was something very freeing about being bare in the breeze, the sun warming her breasts, the perfect blue canopy of sky above them. The graze of Steve’s unshaven cheek against her already-sensitive skin was heavenly.

“This is my idea of a great holiday,” he mused, some time later, lying on his stomach in the long grass.

She reached down to ruffle his hair. “The Poconos? Or between my thighs?”

“Both. Though I’m only recommending the first one to the guys at the office.”

“Our house will need a tall fence,” she said. “For all our wilderness adventures.”

Steve laughed. “Or maybe we come back here every year.”

“On our anniversary.”

“It’s a date.”

Even bathed in afterglow, Peggy knew it couldn’t possibly happen. Real life would gradually encroach upon their private happiness. But as long as they could keep carving out little moments for themselves, she knew they’d be all right.

*

They drove to a nearby diner for supper. They stopped on the way back to pick up a fresh pint of milk for the morning, and a newspaper, so Peggy could have something to read that didn’t involve sexy dames or speeding cars or seething machismo.

By the time they arrived back at the cabin, it had clouded over, and the wind was starting to pick up. Steve was glad they’d had at least one nice day in the sun; even if it rained the rest of the time they were there, there was no reason they couldn’t enjoy a little indoor recreation.

Given the way Peggy pounced on him the moment they were inside, she was in clear agreement.

They went to bed early that night; of course, they didn’t get to sleep until very, very late. 

*

Steve woke with a start to an almighty racket—the rain battering the tin roof, the windows clattering in their sashes, and something else. Something that sounded like the unholy offspring of a buzzsaw and a jackhammer. 

It didn’t seem possible that the sound could be made by a human woman, but it was definitely coming from Peggy’s side of the bed. 

He was still half asleep, and for a brief moment he actually wondered whether it was Peggy’s snoring that was making the windows rattle. It wasn’t, but the noise was starting to set his teeth on edge.

Steve had had a pretty bad snoring problem himself once, but that had all gone away after the serum. He still remembered some of the tricks his mother used to use to quiet him, though he wasn’t sure how Peggy would take to the suggestion of sewing a marble into the backs of all her nightdresses to keep her from sleeping on her back.

He slid his arm under her and gently, tenderly, rolled her onto her side. The sound abated, and he cuddled up to her, relieved.

Just as he was on the verge of falling asleep, however, it started again. Now he was close enough that he could actually  _ feel _ the vibrations as well as hear them, like the roar of a jet engine.

He was ready to take his pillow and sleep out on the porch swing, if it hadn’t been for the howling storm. Even Dum Dum Dugan on his worst night had never made such an ear-splitting racket. Though in Peggy’s defense, Steve had never slept quite as closely with Dugan.

That actually gave Steve an idea: Dugan only snored when he went to sleep on his left-hand side.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to flip their positions so that Peggy was facing the opposite way, on the other side of the bed.

She stopped for a few minutes—and then she rolled back towards him, her arm flopping across Steve’s chest, her mouth at his ear, and started again.

It was going to be a long night.

*

Peggy woke to the rain tapping softly against the windows. It was still dark; beside her, Steve was sound asleep, his head burrowed beneath his pillow. 

She wondered whether he often slept like that. She didn’t remember him doing it on the rare occasions they’d gone to sleep together in the field, or the few nights they’d managed to steal away in the city. And she didn’t imagine it could be very comfortable. But she supposed that they both had odd habits and eccentricities still to learn about one another.

Something about a rainy morning always made her feel comfortable and drowsy. She lounged in bed for a while, nestled against Steve’s side—wishing, not for the first time, that she’d thought to bring something to read. She needed to distract herself from her increasingly itchy sunburn, but she’d already devoured the paper, and she didn’t think she could stomach any more of that wretched Mickey Spillane novel.

She decided to wake Steve up out of sheer boredom—which was rotten of her, but she didn’t think he’d mind.

She draped herself across his back, kissing and nipping lightly at his shoulders. His low groan was muffled by the pillow.

“Darling? Are you awake?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“No.”

“Hmm.” She pressed herself against him, trailing a hand down his side. “Are you sure?”

His reply was unintelligible, but sounded distinctly like “Please go away.”

“That’s a shame,” said Peggy, sliding down to lie next to him. “I know how much you like to look after me. And I desperately need looking after.”

The pillow shifted, revealing a glimpse of a tousled head. “What do you need?”

Peggy took his hand and placed it where she wanted it.

Steve sighed.

“Well,” said Peggy, her desire evaporating into annoyance. “Never mind, then.”

He sat up, looking adorably rumpled, which didn’t help anything. “Hey.”

She folded her arms and waited.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

His honest confession melted her reserve. She knew he still had nightmares about the war—they both did, though his were more frequent. She sat up too, and kissed his cheek. 

“It’s all right,” she told him, stroking the back of his neck. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Oh, I—nothing like that.” He pulled back to look at her sheepishly. “I just couldn’t sleep. New bed, different sounds… you know how it is.”

She ruffled his hair. “I’ll tell you what. Let me make you a cup of tea, and we can listen to the radio and have a lie-in.”

“Sounds perfect.”

She got up and pottered around a bit in her nightdress. Staying in bed all day was something they’d never done together; it was certainly a nice alternative to the office, which was where they’d both be, if not for the holiday.

“What happened to the back of your leg?” asked Steve.

Peggy glanced down. There was a mottled patch of red along the crease of her knee. “Sunburn. It’s been itching awfully since last night.”

“Looks more like you’re allergic to something.”

Peggy lifted up her nightgown and looked herself over. There were angry red splotches in her armpits, between her breasts, and near the tops of her thighs.

“Chiggers,” said Steve.

“Is that what this is, or did I just learn a new swear word?”

“Little mites. They bite around the edges of your clothes.”

Sure enough, when taken together, the red marks formed a clear outline of Peggy’s little French bathing suit.

“You get them rolling around in the grass,” added Steve. He sounded, to her ears, faintly reproachful.

“You don’t have any!”

He shrugged helplessly.

“Only in America,” Peggy muttered.

“Come on with that. I’ve been to England. You may not have bears, but I know you have bugs.”

“Not like this!”

“It’ll clear up in a few days. Did you bring any calamine lotion?”

“No one told me I might need it,” she said pointedly.

Ignoring the barb, Steve observed, “It’s not the kind of thing they’re gonna put in the brochure.”

She pivoted on her heel to face him. “I suppose you think this is funny!”

“Nope,” said Steve, his expression suspiciously blank. “No, ma’am.” He managed to maintain a straight face for about two seconds before cracking up completely.

“You can bloody well make your own tea,” she told him, and stalked off to the bathroom.

*

A cool shower partly restored Peggy’s mood, but not entirely. She and Steve kept to their own sides of the cabin, ostensibly ignoring each other; she did her crossword, while he pretended to be absorbed in the thrilling adventures of Mike Hammer.

Without warning, he announced that he was going out in the car. He did not ask her to come along.

He was gone until about mid-afternoon, leaving Peggy at something of a loss. She’d never known Steve to sulk—and he wasn’t the injured party.

When at last he did turn up, he was soaking wet, and didn’t look much happier than when he’d gone. Along with a large, grease-spotted paper bag, he carried a brown bottle and a box of cotton balls.

Peggy didn’t ask where he’d found a chemist. She knew there wasn’t one close by. He could very well have driven halfway back to the city.

“I might need your help putting it on,” she said softly, unbuttoning her dress. “There are one or two spots I can’t easily reach.” She slid the dress off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. It was the only thing she had on; the locations of the bites had made it intolerable to wear underclothes.

Steve’s colour rose swiftly, though he made no move to approach. “Looks like you’ve been scratching it,” he remarked.

She nodded.

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit, in places.”

He seemed surprised by the admission. Truth be told, Peggy was a little surprised herself.

“I’m sorry I laughed earlier,” he said. Then, giving her bedroom eyes, he added, “Tell me where it hurts, and I’ll kiss it better.”

She sat on the end of the bed, crossing her legs demurely—as demurely as possible, given that she was nude. 

“In that case,” she said gravely, “I’m afraid it hurts everywhere.”

Steve was across the room in three steps.

*

In addition to the calamine lotion, which he dutifully applied in due course, Steve had brought soup and sandwiches from the diner, so that Peggy wouldn’t have to venture out in the storm. The thoughtfulness of it made her realize that he hadn’t been brooding; he’d been trying to avoid making her angry by avoiding her entirely, rather than talking things over like a sensible person.

They slept in shifts that night: Peggy dozing fitfully while trying not to scratch, Steve napping whenever Peggy’s bug bites kept her awake. By around four a.m., they’d both given up entirely.

It was too early to go out, so they settled for slightly stale toast that Steve made over the dying fire, using the last of the bread from the picnic basket. And tea, of course.

For the third morning in a row, Peggy had her feet up on the dining table while she drank her tea. Steve debated whether to say something, but decided in the end that this was not the hill to die on. He didn’t want to look back on their honeymoon as the time they couldn’t spend more than a day together without getting on each other’s nerves. He was just cranky after another night with no sleep. 

Peggy was also in a thundering bad mood. A few of her worst bites had puffed up into hives; Steve had never seen anyone react that badly to chiggers before—and he’d been that kid who was allergic to the entire outdoors. He supposed that being from away and never being exposed to them before might have had something to do with it. That, and she wouldn’t stop scratching, though Steve wasn’t about to bring  _ that _ up again.

Around mid-afternoon, the rain still hadn’t let up, and the roof developed a leak. It was the last straw.

Steve had never packed a suitcase so quickly in his life.

*

The storm only worsened once they were on the highway. It was an elevated stretch of road, with few trees for cover, and the sedan was knocked about by the wind. The rain was so heavy that it rippled across the windshield in solid sheets, like sheer fabric.

“Let me drive,” said Peggy.

“No way.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be in this marriage? You’re the man, and your word is law, is that it?”

“Nope,” said Steve shortly.

For some reason, his refusal to argue made Peggy twice as determined. “Then why? Because you can’t stand to be outdone by a woman?”

“Because you drive like a maniac!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

“You only say that because  _ you _ drive like an old maid!”

Without warning, Steve cranked the wheel. The car shot across the tarmac before skidding to a stop on the gravel shoulder.

He turned in his seat to face Peggy and shouted, “I hate it when you put your feet on the table. That’s where we eat!”

He was bringing up things that had nothing to do with what they’d been arguing about. It was officially a quarrel. No holds barred.

“Well,” she shot back, “you’re a prude!”

“How do you figure? Because I don’t want to make time with you in broad daylight on a public beach with other people around?”

“It’s just _kissing_ , Steve! We’re married! It’s allowed!”

“It’s _private_!”

“It’s stingy, is what it is. You’re cheap with your money, and cheap with your affections.”

“Now, hold on a second,” said Steve, brows lowering. “That isn’t fair.”

It absolutely  _ wasn’t _ fair, but Peggy was too wound up to course-correct. “And another thing,” she continued, poking his arm for emphasis. “When I say something personal to you, I’d like a response! Or is that too much to expect?”

“I’m surprised you stopped talking long enough to notice!”

“You’re so—” Peggy, inarticulate with rage, hurled the worst insult she could think of: “ _American!_ ”

Steve didn’t miss a step. “Guess what, Mrs. Rogers—so are you! Though you’d never know it from the amount of tea we drink!”

“You like tea!”

“I  _ never _ liked tea!”

“I shouldn’t be surprised, because your coffee is wretched!”

“Well, you snore!”

“I do _not_ ,” she declared, indignant.

“You do! Peggy! It’s the worst sound I ever heard in my life! And it’s so _loud_! I haven’t slept in days!”

He sounded so overwrought that she couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing. It turned out to be just as good a release as shouting.

A moment later, Steve was laughing too.

“I honestly thought you liked tea,” said Peggy, slightly mortified.

“I don’t. But I liked you making it for me. By the time we were engaged it seemed rude to ask you to stop.”

“I could make you something else. And then sit quietly beside you while you drink it.” She didn’t quite manage to keep the hurt out of her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I love listening to you talk. I don’t know why I said that. I think I might be sleep-deprived.”

“You don’t like to talk, though, is that it?”

“No, I do. Just… only when I have something to say. And even then, it’s…”

Peggy resisted the urge to fill in the gap.

“It’s tough to find the words. Especially if I’m feeling…” He gestured vaguely. “If it’s something emotional. But that doesn’t mean I don’t—I mean, I’m crazy about you. You know that, right?”

She found his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Of course I do.”

“Am I really cheap with my affections?”

Peggy felt ashamed; she still forgot, sometimes, that loving one another the way they did also meant they had the capacity to hurt each other all the more deeply.

“Oh, Steve, no. There was no call for that. I’m so sorry.”

“But you do think I’m cheap with my money.”

“You are, awfully. But nobody’s perfect.”

That won her a small smile. But it was clear her angry strike had left a mark, one that couldn’t easily be brushed aside.

She slid forward on the seat, and pulled him close. She’d meant it to be a single, conciliatory kiss, but it quickly turned heated, Steve working her lips open with his own.

When they broke apart, she was breathing hard, gripping his shoulder tightly. His hand had slipped under the hem of her dress at some point; he was toying with her garter clip, snapping the elastic lightly against her thigh.

“Don’t tease,” she said hoarsely.

He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the side of her neck, and moved his hand higher. “Not teasing.”

The next few minutes were a scramble, which finally resolved itself with Peggy reclining on the seat, Steve wedged between her thighs. His hands were everywhere, it seemed: unzipping and unhooking, pulling her dress down to free her breasts, rucking her skirts up around her waist. Nor was Peggy idle: she shoved his trousers down over his hips, and nearly tore his shirt open trying to get the buttons undone.

The air in the car was very close, and she could see that the windows had fogged over. Her right leg was jammed against the gearshift; she knew it had to be an impossibly tight fit for him, with the steering wheel on his side, but she didn’t especially care as long as he kept kissing her, kept touching her.

All at once, he pushed into her, the movement so swift that she had to brace herself against the passenger door with both hands to avoid giving herself a concussion.

“God, Peggy,” he gritted out.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed, pulling him back to her even harder. Few things excited her more than these fleeting moments in which passion overcame him, and he forgot to be mindful of his strength.

He set a relentless pace. Peggy couldn’t seem to catch her breath. All the while, he was pouring a steady stream of sexy patter into her ear: what he was going to do to her, what he wanted her to do to him, how beautiful she was, how she excited him.

“Please,” she gasped, digging her nails into the hard muscle of his arm. “Please, Steve, please.” It was the only word she seemed to be able to manage, other than his name. She felt as though her brain were short-circuiting.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged. “Let me see you.”

The catch in his voice was what tipped the balance. Her eyes squeezed shut, as pleasure crested over her in endless waves; she lost track of how long it lasted, how many times he brought her to the edge before tumbling over with her.

She came back to herself with one hand tightly fisted in Steve’s hair, the other clutching at his back. He was panting hard, his hair damp with sweat; when he lifted his head to look at her, he appeared dazed, his eyes glassy.

Peggy was unreasonably proud of herself on all counts.

Overcome with tenderness, she smoothed back his hair and craned her neck to kiss his cheek, his jaw.

“I love you so much,” he said, still sounding short of breath.

“My darling,” she murmured, stroking the length of his spine. The words had a keen, possessive edge to them; he  _ was _ hers, every inch of him, to have and to hold. And she intended to do both, as often as she could.

The brief moment of peace was shattered as the interior of the car was suddenly bathed in blue light, and a siren squawked.

Peggy’s understanding of roles and jurisdictions was still a bit murky at times, but she was fairly certain that they’d just been happened upon by an officer of the state police.

Exchanging slightly panicked looks, they quickly sat up and made themselves as decent as they could. 

Steve had lipstick smeared all over his face and down his neck. His clothes were hopelessly creased, his hair unkempt; there were teeth-marks in plain evidence on his collar, and it looked as though he was missing at least two shirt buttons. He looked, in short, exceedingly well-loved, and Peggy suspected she was in a similar state. Fortunately, a full skirt concealed a multitude of sins, including a torn girdle and laddered stockings.

Outside, someone tapped on the window. 

Steve cranked it down with a resigned sigh.

The trooper had one of those soft, round faces that made it impossible to guess a man’s age at first glance. Judging by his hairline, Peggy estimated him to be in his early forties. His name, according to the pocket of his uniform shirt, was Sergeant Horner.

“Hiya, folks,” he said amiably.

“Hello,” said Steve and Peggy, in unison.

“Car trouble?”

Steve had a decidedly guilty look. “Not exactly.”

“The storm made us rather nervous,” Peggy added. “We pulled over to wait it out.”

Sergeant Horner withdrew from the window, gazing up at the perfectly dry sky. “Seems okay now,” he observed.

“Will you look at that,” said Steve, unconvincingly.

“That’s quite the accent, little lady,” Horner remarked. He smiled at Peggy, showing a row of tiny teeth like plump yellow corn. “Whereabouts are you from?”

“We’re from New York City,” said Steve quickly.

Peggy, forestalling the customary geographical guessing game, chimed in with, “London, England, originally.” She’d learned through experience that being either more or less specific only invited more questions.

“Well, I don’t know how they do things in London, England, but here in the state of Pennsylvania, it’s dangerous to park on the shoulder like this. Especially at night. Someone could’ve rammed right into ya.”

Peggy wasn’t the type to blush easily, but at that moment, she was glad the interior of the car was dark. It took all the strength she had not to turn and look at the passenger window, where there would almost certainly be a handprint in evidence.

“Gonna need to see your license, there, son.”

Steve dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out an assortment of items, setting them on the dashboard: a nub of pencil, a handkerchief, and his cigarette lighter.

Eyeing the lighter, Horner inquired, “You serve?”

“Yes, sir,” said Steve, with practiced ease. He picked up the lighter and handed it to Horner, ostensibly showing him the U.S. Army crest. In fact, however, it was impossible to miss the engraving.

The trooper’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, looking Steve over more thoroughly.

“It’s a beaut, isn’t it?” said Steve, proudly. “Christmas gift from my wife.” Locating his wallet at last, he held it out to Sergeant Horner.

Horner didn’t move to take it. “Captain Rogers,” he said at last, his voice half an octave higher than it had been a moment ago. “It’s a real honour.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” said Steve modestly.

“And is this the missus?”

“Yes, sir, as of Tuesday morning.”

“Uh huh,” said the sergeant, knowingly. “Newlyweds. Figures.”

Peggy focused on keeping her smile bright and trying not to die of embarrassment.

Steve offered the wallet once again, but Horner waved his hand away.

“We’ll call it a warning this time, okay?” He tapped the roof of the car. “You kids drive safe, and don’t pull over again until you get home.”

The blue light dimmed and disappeared.

“That was a stroke of luck,” said Peggy.

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” Steve turned the lighter over in his hand before stowing it away in his pocket. He looked altogether too pleased with himself.

“Steve!”

“We  _ did _ pull over because of the storm,” he insisted. “I’m not paying a ticket for that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she told him, delighted.

He smoothed her dress down over her knee. “I guess I still have a few tricks you haven’t seen.”

“I should say so,” Peggy declared. “You’ve never spoken to me the way you did earlier.”

Steve smiled, ducking his head. “You wanted to hear me talk.”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” said Peggy, wryly.

“I didn’t hear any complaints. Actually, you were pretty quiet.”

“Because you did my head in.” She felt an absurd sort of shyness about the admission.

“That’s how you make me feel every day.”

“Oh,” she said, quite overcome.

He swept her up in a hug, saying what couldn’t be put into words.

“Let me drive,” she offered.

“It’s only another hour or so.”

“You’re exhausted. And it’s partly my fault you haven’t been sleeping.” She caressed his cheek. “Besides, we both know I’m the better driver.”

He smiled, and turned to kiss the palm of her hand. “ _Faster_ is not _better_.”

“Agree to disagree, darling.”

They made the rest of the trip home with Peggy behind the wheel. Steve made a valiant effort to stay awake and talk to her, but finally succumbed when they were in sight of the city’s orange glow. She could tell the exact moment that he tumbled into sleep, the full weight of him coming to rest against her shoulder. 

He was heavy, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t bear. She knew that when they finally arrived home, regardless of how tired he was, he would stubbornly insist on carrying her across the threshold of his apartment. Their apartment, now.

And that would be their life together: give and take, negotiation and compromise, both working to maintain that perilous balance. One long, lifelong conversation.

Peggy was looking forward to it.


End file.
